


Impossible Year

by strawberrysummer



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, I'll add more characters later, It's Okay, Monsters are big!, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Surface (Undertale), Trauma, Underfell Grillby (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), but most have calmed down, quite a few people are gonna be assholes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrysummer/pseuds/strawberrysummer
Summary: You're used to losing things, but this past year? Man, it really takes the cake.Your fame, your friends, your fanbase, your inspiration... Even people you loved.When it seems like all is lost, you find yourself making friends with a grumpy fire elemental, and things seem to get a little brighter. It really doesn't stop your baggage from being too heavy to carry though, huh?Guess you'll need to make a few more friends to help you carry it!
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Impossible Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I stopped writing for a while because uh, I had traumatic shit going on if I'm honest. However, I've decided that I'm not gonna let this ruin my passion for telling stories, and this is one that I REALLY wanna start telling.  
> There will be some dark themes, but don't worry. It's not gonna be a constant depression episode. Things are gonna get better. :)  
> Anyways, hopefully you guys will join me on this journey and have a good time along the way!!

_ Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap _

The sound of your pencil was filtered out by your own dissociation, eyes unfocused and shiny with fresh glaze as you stared blankly at the sketchpad before you. How often did you find yourself in this place, you wondered? Twice a week? Three times? … Perhaps more? You were here often enough for the bartender to learn your name and why you were here a lot, that was all you knew. But to you, time just didn’t mean anything anymore. It was as if it had stopped. Like you were in your own personal bubble without a pocket watch to watch the seconds tick by.

The television on the wall played a show that you were both familiar and unfamiliar with, the electronic sound of some robotic actor droning on, in one ear and out the other, and yet you had been here often enough to learn to recognise it. How long? How long, how long, how long? You didn’t register the barkeep setting a new drink in front of you, despite the fact that he tried to  _ clunk _ it against the wood louder than usual to get your attention.

Another unknown amount of time passed, and you heard a soft  _ crackle _ \- the elemental behind the bar was clearing his throat, you remembered. Finally, something that broke through your dissociative state. You blinked, eyes immediately burning and tearing with relief from the reprieve of staring, and your head lifted to gaze sullenly at Grillby.

He was pulling some sort of fire-proof glove off of his hand, his beady eyes stared endlessly, knowing all too well what was on your mind. He gestured to the glass in front of you; water. Ah. That explained the glove. How much did you have to drink? Your hands felt numb as you set the pencil on top of the still-blank page of the sketchbook and abandoned it for the water glass. It helped, you realised; the cool liquid chilled your throat and hit your alcohol-warmed belly with a minor shock at the temperature. Your flushed face felt slightly less warm. You hadn’t even realised it was.

“... Thank you, Grillby,” you spoke softly, your tone demure as you avoided matching his gaze. “Always know when to call it, hm?” Your eyes were focused on the droplets that had fallen to the empty page and soaked it through, creating little, bleeding, grey spots.

You caught a flash of silver in your peripheral, recognising it to be the inside of Grillby’s mouth. He had cracked a small smile. That made you feel better, too.   


“I have been working this way for far too long to not recognise the signs,” he responded vaguely and you found your brows furrowing just slightly. He didn’t always make sense to you, but you got the idea that he was too old to care about whether or not he did.

“The signs, huh? Of what?” you mumbled, sticking your finger in your drink. You ignored Grillby when he grimaced as the ice  _ clinked _ against the glass and the chill of the water bit into your calloused skin.

“You know what you’re thinking about,” he answered, picking up a glass and a rag to aimlessly polish. It was quiet today. You purposely avoided coming here during the night, not wanting to be amongst the crowds should… anyone recognise you. “It isn’t my job to clarify your needlessly cluttered thoughts.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you snipped, cheeks puffing just slightly in your feigned annoyance.

The purple flames that made up Grillby only flickered and crackled in amusement, more of that pretty, silver inside showing itself as he allowed a short “hah!” in response. You rolled your eyes at him and opened your mouth to bite at him further, but you froze when the door opened rather suddenly. It was cold outside and the air from the street quickly displaced the warmth inside, causing you to shiver.

Grillby seemed slightly annoyed that his carefully kept temperature was ruined, but said nothing other than retreating behind the bar and going to fiddle with making a drink. That was awfully fast. You wondered if the person coming in behind you was a regular. You were going to turn and subtly look, but that “regular” had already moved into the bar, having absolutely zero sense of personal space as he chose the seat right next to you. You let your annoyance wash over you, and then melt away. No point in lingering in something you can’t help… right?

“You’re here earlier than usual, Sans,” Grillby spoke up, setting a bottle of something in front of the person that had walked in and sat down. You sat up slightly, half-sketch long since abandoned from your mind as you tilted your head further, finally raising the bottom half of your face from the warm comfort of your turtleneck.

As the man spoke, nostalgia slapped you in the face since your nose was freshly vulnerable. You had to forcefully steel your expression, blinking in surprise at the smells that assaulted your senses. The man next to you had brought inside a foreign scent, and it still lingered as it had hardly been a minute.

_ Oil, cigarette smoke, and the smell of leather that had just come in from outside after a cold, snowy day. A deep, scratchy voice that soothed your tears after a rough time at school. A smile that beamed when you asked to tag along with it to work. _

Before you could register what was happening, Grillby was snapping his fingers in front of your face and calling your name. The new-comer- Sans, apparently- was staring at you with vague discomfort and apprehension. You realised, now, that your face was wet and you had been dissociating, staring at the poor stranger for the better part of two minutes.

“Sorry!” you said, suddenly leaning back in alarm and falling off your seat. Grillby snapped your name again, clearly concerned, but your mind only registered the harsh tone as frustration. A shaking hand rose from the ground, and you slapped it onto the surface of the bar to heave yourself to your feet.

Your legs tried to buckle but you steadied them as best you could, clumsily, slightly drunkenly, gathering all of your things. “Sorry, I’m so,  _ so _ sorry about that,” you mumbled quickly.

Sketchbook, pencils, and bag in hand, you slapped money onto the polished surface of the bar and  _ immediately _ booked it out of the establishment. As the door swung shut behind you, Grillby’s concerned calling muffled and was no longer in your mind. Stumbling at first, the biting ice in the wind helped to sober you up enough to walk away.

After several long moments, you deemed yourself far enough away from the bar and slowed your pace, furrowing your brow and focusing on the ground, covered now with a light dusting of snow. What had gotten into you? You mentally chastised yourself, gritting your teeth together and ignoring the pain that twinged in your jaw. Had your emotions really gotten the best of you  _ just _ because some stranger had smelled like… like someone you used to know?

You bit down on your lip, relishing the pain that temporarily washed away the sorrow inside your mind. It weighed on you, though, all the way to the bus stop. You didn’t look up once. Not while swiping your card, not during the ride, not even when you got out amongst a few other people did you take in your surroundings. You dissociated all the way back to your apartment, not bothering to wave back at the security lady at the front desk as you walked inside and trudged to the elevator.

You only really came to awareness once you reached your apartment door and had to fumble with your keypad, punching in the numbers listlessly. Finally, when the door shut and locked firmly behind you, you released that darkness that clenched at your soul, leaning your back against the door and sliding down the nice wood, all the way to the tile of the floor. You shook, eyes watering, chest heaving as you tried to forget.

It was fifteen more minutes before the ache of your legs reminded you that you were human, not a foldable chair, and couldn’t stay like this forever. Reluctantly, you stood on shaking limbs, feeling drained from the panic attack that had wreaked havoc on your body. You forced some more water down your throat, feeling the cool relief wash away the burning lump inside.

Looking down at your kitchen sink, you realised something. Since when did you make it home? Your body may have recognised your safe space, but your brain had never truly registered it. You shook your head, coming to a little bit more, and looked around. Right.  _ Your _ safe space. Nobody could hurt you here… 

Your eyes drifted around the room and landed on a photo frame laying face down on the top of a fireplace mantle.

At least… not  _ physically _ .

You shook off the thoughts, going back to your front door and grabbing up your small book bag and sketchbook, as well as all of your scattered drawing pencils. You were missing one or two, but couldn’t be bothered to look for it at the moment. You had better things to do with your time. You probably wouldn’t be drawing again any time soon, anyways. Not unless a commission came in and you  _ had _ to. You felt a scowl form on your face, lip slightly curling with self disgust. It wasn’t as if that was going to ever happen again, now would it? All of your loyal  _ fans _ had dipped. Just like everybody else. You shivered slightly, but let your temper wash away. Now wasn’t the time to go blaming people for your own mistakes.

Your shoulders slumped as you peeked into the hallway, seeing your drawing tablet set up in your office, untouched for months now. They… Just didn’t have the full story. When it came to the internet, people were bound to follow along with the most famous person out of any one group of celebrities… right? You hoped that was the case. You don’t know what you would think if you knew for a  _ fact _ that everyone was fully convinced that you were some awful, horrible person.

Well, no. That wasn’t true. Would it really change anything if you knew for sure?

You ignored the bitter taste in your mouth as you filled an electric kettle with water, plugging it into its stand and setting it to heat up to 190 degrees. You walked away from it, not sparing your belongings on the kitchen island a single glance other than to grab your phone from your jacket, which you had draped over a barstool earlier without realising it. You sat heavily down on your nice, comfortable couch, but the cushions easing your weary back weren’t enough to lift the pressure from your chest as you checked all of your social media.

You skimmed through all of the anonymous hate mail, heart clenching at what some of them said.

_ “You’re a pathetic, awful liar. I can’t believe you would go out of your way to manipulate people who cared about you. I hope you’re happy, cunt. -anon” _

_ “Wow, what a cringe artist. How the hell does anybody like this shit? -anon” _

_ “lol just die bitch - anon” _

_ “u deserve to be alone forever. after what u did, nobody would dare to love u. - anon” _

The one that stung the most was the last one. You were unable but to help re-read it over, and over again. Did you deserve to be alone? You had come to accept that, at this point, that losing everyone and everything had been your own fault. But was it really the truth? You didn’t know what to do other than to accept it as fact and to blame yourself. What else did you even know how to say? Reading these messages was self-destructive and you  _ knew _ it, but what else did you have to do?

The only thing you had to look forward to, now, was getting a shitty job, probably. Sure, you  _ used _ to be able to pay the bills with your art and art alone, but how far was that going to get you know? The only thing commented on your art and on your animations was hate. So you stopped posting and stopped taking commissions. Whenever you got one, anyways, it turned out to be a joke. One person had seemed so sweet, so understanding… and then, when you had asked for the reference photo for their character… it had been an awful image instead. That last situation was traumatising as well as your final straw. You hadn’t checked any of your media for at least a week, after that. Isolating yourself and refusing to leave your bed for the majority of it.

You still saw the image every time you closed your eyes. Even still, you squeezed them shut and tried to focus on something else.  _ Anything else. _

Your focus was interrupted when your kettle beeped and you shook your head and got up, wandering over to your cabinets to prepare yourself a nice, soothing cup of oolong tea. It was your grandmother’s favorite, and you hadn’t touched it in a while. You stared at the box, tears never coming since you were already numb from the events of today, until your kettle beeped again, urging you to get the damn tea made already.

The rest of your night was pretty much the same as every other night. Lonely. Nobody messaged you while you sipped at your tea and watched random youtube videos. Your phone didn’t blow up with hundreds of notifications. You weren’t on a call with friends, smiling and laughing despite everything being so, so wrong.

Lonely… Lonely and quiet. All you ever seemed to know anymore was those things, each laced with a deep sadness and lingering fear. Would you ever feel any better? A small voice urged you to write in your diary, but you refused to leave the couch for the rest of the night, right up until the moment you set your half finished, cold tea on the coffee table and laid down with a blanket curling up and finally,  _ finally _ , falling asleep.

The memories of the day faded when you closed your mind, and for at least a few moments, everything was alright.

* * *

You woke up the next morning with your head aching, pounding,  _ screaming _ at you for not eating or drinking enough the previous day. Your neck ached from sleeping on the couch, and your television had long since turned off to conserve power. You checked your phone, squinting at the date on the screen. Fuck, it was finally time for your birthday, huh? You groaned and set your phone aside, already knowing that there wouldn’t be any notifications from any loved ones. Maybe your mom, but you kind of doubted it. She had barely contacted you ever since her mother had passed. You didn’t blame her; you wouldn’t really wanna talk to you, either.

As you stared up at your vaulted ceiling, you wondered if it was worth doing anything for your birthday. Maybe it would make you feel better, at least, to get a slice of cake from the store? These wounds would never be healed no matter how much chocolate you ate, but it may at least give you a temporary boost in mood if you were lucky. Maybe if you tried to pretend like nothing had happened, at least  _ one _ day would be good. Although… Maybe you shouldn’t. Did you really deserve to be happy, even for a day?

You felt yourself scowling and put your arm over your eyes, contemplating going back to sleep before your phone buzzed. That’s odd… only text messages weren’t silenced. You didn’t feel like being kept up to date on how much people hated you at every given moment of every day. Nobody really knew your number except for the  _ very _ few people you considered to be genuine, true friends. Even then, you still hadn’t expected anyone to text.

Eventually you worked up the nerve to check, unlocking the screen with your fingerprint and opening up your text messages. Your brows shot upwards in surprise to see Grillby’s name there. Since when did  _ he _ text?!

_ “Hello. I am aware that it’s your birthday, today, correct? Come downtown to my bar at 8.” _

You shook your head, squinting a bit more at Grillby’s message. He wanted you to come back to the bar? You bit down on your lower lip, hesitating before sending out a message in response.

_ “Why the hell would I do that lmao. I embarrassed the shit out of myself yesterday” _

It didn’t take too long for Grillby to reply, considering it was fairly early in the day, but you shook with a small amount of laughter as you could practically  _ hear _ the disapproval in his message.

_ “Don’t make me text more than I have to, you absolute twat. Be here at eight or I’ll send someone to  _ **_get_ ** _ you.” _

The back of your neck prickled with alarm at that last part, and you had no choice but to concede.

_ “Okay, okay!!! Damn, grillby… no need to threaten me, hot stuff hahaha” _

You didn’t get a reply after that and assumed that he was annoyed with you. Ah, oh well. It was worth it. It was really funny to work your way under his skin. Er… flames? You’re pretty sure he had some sort of body under there.

Anyways.

It was fun to chat with Grillby and to tease him. You both knew that you could be rude to each other without truly offending one another as long as you didn’t take it too far, and it was… nice, you had decided a couple months ago. Very nice to be around someone who was actually open and honest with you, even if he was a bit rough around the edges. Besides, the both of you were equally  _ hot-headed _ . You laughed to yourself, feeling much better than you had been before. It felt good to know that at least one person was looking out for you, during these rough as hell days.

Finally, you decided to get off the couch. If you were being forced out of your apartment, today, then you better take a damn shower and do the laundry that was piling in the bathroom. No need to embarrass yourself a  _ second _ time by showing up to the bar looking like shit and wearing the same clothes you had been for the three days prior. You didn’t want people to see you like that, at the very least.

Hesitating, you realised just that; people would see you, tonight. A lot of people. It was a Friday, and you were going to arrive around eight. That… made you very nervous. When was the last time you had stayed out past six? You were always so, so wary of catching the eye of someone who may recognise your voice or catch you sketching and wonder why it looked so familiar. Cold fear began seeping into your chest, your throat tightening as you contemplated telling Grillby that you weren’t coming.

Thinking better of showing your face around so many people, especially downtown, you texted Grillby and told him that you couldn’t make it. You waited around for an hour, hoping he would say something, but… maybe he was disappointed and didn’t want to talk to you. Giving up on waiting for a reply text, you sighed and went about your day. Just because you weren’t showing up doesn’t mean that you couldn’t do laundry and get cleaned up. You could still treat yourself nice, at least, for your own birthday.

* * *

  
  


Guilt started settling in around the time you were supposed to show up, with still no sign from Grillby that you had his understanding or sympathy. He wasn’t really good at talking, especially about emotional issues, so maybe you had scared him off for now. At least, you hoped it was only for now… Should you go back to the bar at all?

Before you could get yourself lost in your own self-loathing, you heard the buzzer for your apartment door. Your brows pinched and you wondered who the hell it could be, considering that the majority of people didn’t even know your address. Let alone your apartment number. Still, you rushed over to the door and pressed the button, trying to see who it was through the camera. You couldn’t make out who it was, but it was someone tall, broad, wearing a dark coat that had a fur lined hood. Something tickled the back of your mind, but you couldn’t see the person’s face so you weren’t sure if you knew them at all.

“Hello?” You responded awkwardly, squinting at the little screen as you watched the person’s hand reach out for the buzzer again. Was… Were those… skeleton gloves? Or was it a monster, perhaps? What.

**“hey. you uhhh….”** the voice was made staticky over the buzzer, and you waited impatiently as the man trailed off as he looked at the list of names. After a moment, he finished his question by stating your name.

You could feel a mild sense of fear prickling at the back of your neck, nothing new to you, though… You felt fear in most situations. “... Yeah? Why? What do you want?” You answered his question with more questions, defensive.

**“grillbz said he warned ya. sent me to get ya. yous, uh, was supposed to be there at eight.”** The man responded patiently, if not sounding just slightly awkward; probably from being made to fetch somebody he didn’t even know.

You groaned with annoyance at the response, rolling your eyes, but you felt much safer knowing that this man was a friend of Grillby’s. “I  _ told _ him that I wouldn’t be able to go. Did he not get my message? I’m sorry to make you come all this way, but I won’t be going.”

**“uh, sorry doll, but grillbz said not to take no for an answer-”**

“You listen to me,  _ pal _ ,” you snarled, unbidden, pushing your mouth closer to the microphone. “Nobody calls me anything except my  _ name, _ you got that?” After realising that you had snapped, you felt bad, but the poor guy on the other end seemed to take it in stride.

**“sheesh, aight d- i mean. yeah. anyway. c’mon down, grillbz wants ya at the bar. n’ as pretty as ya voice is, i wanna see the face attached. heh heh.”**

You could feel your cheeks warming with that statement, both from embarrassment from snapping at him, and… was… was he  _ flirting _ with you? You didn’t know how to respond. You were so shocked that you mumbled a simple “okay” and pressed the button to unlock the door to the elevator lobby.

You turned away and waited in your kitchen, still slightly stunned. Even after you had yelled at the man for calling you a nickname, he wanted to flirt with you? Did he not think you were rude? After a few minutes you heard a soft knock on your door, which surprised you. Those doors were light as hell. It was easy to knock really loudly on them. It happened all the time, and it always started you… But it was almost as if he had been careful. You were starting to get a creeping suspicion that Grillby had sent this man off with a warning of your fear of loud noise, which you weren’t sure if you appreciated or resented.

Opening the door, you were met face-to-chest with a red turtleneck and a black jacket. An all-too familiar smell hit you and you stumbled backwards, eyes widening as you looked up at the offender. Oh god. Oh god  _ no _ way. It was  _ that guy! Sans! _

The taller person happened to be a skeleton Monster, one of which you had never seen before. So you were surprised when he blinked down at you and recognition filtered over his expression. Oh no, here came the shame, the guilt, the absolutely terrible feeling of embarrassment-

“oh. It’s you,” he muttered, surprised and disappointed. Clearly. Wouldn’t you be, if you ran into someone who took one good whiff of you and ran away crying? “wasn’t expectin’ grillbz to be friends with somebody that hated skeleton monstas.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” eloquently put. Good job, you!! “I… I didn’t even know you were a skeleton monster until I just saw you, now?”

Sans’s eyes narrowed at you, his boney lip curling just slightly and bringing your attention to his golden fang and other, wickedly sharp teeth. You swallowed, fear curling in your belly, legs starting to shake, but you stood your damn ground. You weren’t about to be intimidated by some big, tall… surprisingly handsome… skeleton monster!

“if’n yous don’t hate me, or my kind, then why’dya cry n’ run away when we first met?” His voice was low, rough, coming out in a low, suspicious hiss. Christ, how it reminded you of someone you used to know.

Swallowing at the lump in your throat, pushing back tears welling from the familiar sounds and smells, you dug your hands into your pockets and bit the inside of your lip, hard, trying to ground yourself. “I’m not afraid of you. I don’t hate you,” you said, internally cursing as your voice trembled. “I just… you remind me of somebody. That’s all.”

Sans took a long moment to stare down at you, his gaze eventually drifting from searching your eyes, to search the area around the hollow of your throat. You stiffened, feeling… you didn’t know. Something. It made you squirm, as if you were being judged heavily. Your chest felt tight and you were compelled to take a step back, but you refused to listen to your body’s screaming urges to  _ run _ .

Whatever Sans found, he seemed surprised, drawing up to his full height and blinking a few times. You didn’t realise it at first, but you were trembling like a little chihuahua in his shadow. “shit, swee- i mean. shit. you ain’t gotta be scared’a me.”

You realised that, you sort of were. As much as you had denied it, the way that he had looked at you  _ had _ , indeed scared you. “It’s… nothing personal. I’m scared of everything,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

“ye, i can tell,” he chuckled, and that earned him a thick glare. “yer soul’s a flighty lil thing, huh?”

“Excuse me? How can you tell that just by looking?” you growled, hands crossed protectively over your chest. The last time someone had talked about your soul, well… It had been a monster therapist. She was very sweet and had meant well, but had essentially called you damaged beyond repair. Remembering that Encounter stung viciously, but you did your best to ignore it. She had to ask for permission, in order to see your soul trait, however. Why was Sans able to just see whatever he wanted?!

“sorry,” he shrugged, scratching at the side of his jaw with a pointed fingertip. “jus’ kinda my thing, ya know? nothin’ personal.”

You stood there for several, long, awkward moments before your shaking subsided and you pushed away all other emotion save for mild apprehension. “Right… Well… Talk about awkward first impressions,” you huffed, hunching on yourself a little bit, making you seem even smaller than you already were. “Um. I guess Grillby really wants me to be there, huh? He’s sadistic, sending you of all people. Considering I made a fool of myself and he knows it.”

Sans quirked a bit of a smile, more of his shark-like teeth showing themself but his overall expression softening. “grillbz’s gotta weird way’a showin’ ‘e cares. an’ we shouldn’t keep ‘im waitin’, right? i’ll wait right here for ya to be ready, then i can show yous a shortcut, eh?”

You were surprised at how willing Sans was to just forgive your weirdness, and brush off anything you said that was too serious. You envied his ability to emotionally detach from strangers. That sounded nice… Sighing, you straightened up and nodded. No sense in fighting the inevitable, right? Maybe you got off on the wrong foot with Sans, but… he seemed like a chill person to be around. From what you could see, anyways. You didn’t really know anything about him other than his name, and that he’s quick to assume people don’t like how he looks.

That resonated with you, in a way, and you found yourself understanding more than you ever should. In a way nobody should.

You turned to fix yourself up a bit and maybe apply a little makeup, seeing as it may help you feel better with facing a crowd of people. You spared Sans a glance, offering him a shy smile. “I’ll be just a moment. Um… feel free to sit down? Get some water, if you need, I guess. My home is yours and all that,” you rambled then scurried out of the room before you could further make a fool of yourself. You hoped that your quirky nature was charming, not annoying. Christ. You’ll have to be more friendly and try to make it up to Sans for putting up with you.

You huffed a piece of hair out of your eyes as you locked the bathroom door behind you, glancing wearily into the mirror.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

Only time would tell, you guessed.


End file.
